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Ripley: Your Beautiful Disaster Son
two years before the start of the game, right after Amari was excommunicated from the Church of Helm. *** “His name is Goro,” Amari told Joan, “and he’s a gentle person deep down.” Amari told her stories about Goro all the time. The time he knifed a guy for calling her a whore. The time she caught him scamming donations out of nobles in the Gilded District. The time she caught him saving a kitten from a tree… and that time five minutes later, when she caught him selling the kitten to a black market merchant, claiming it was a rare displacer beast kitten. Huh, Joan thought each time. *** Amari suggested she meet Goro today, in the market. Amari would bring her son and Joan would attempt to make nice. Joan caught sight of them across the busy market square. Amari stood by a market stall, picking through a case of dried flowers… her thick, curly hair tied back with a plain brown string… It’d been three years, and Joan kept telling herself the honeymoon phase would end soon. That eventually she would stop being quite so infatuated. So far, no such luck. Every time she saw Amari, it was like the woman was surrounded by a halo of ethereal light. There was a younger half-elf lounging beside her. He seemed uninterested in the herbs. Goro, obviously. He seemed like a very plain, unassuming man. He had an easygoing smile and a flinty look in his eyes. Huh, Joan thought again. A passing beggar bumped into Amari. The beggar snagged her purse. Amari didn’t seem to notice, but the half-elf (Goro?) gave the beggar a sharp look. The easygoing smile vanished. Goro stuck out his foot. The beggar tripped, smashing his face on the pavement. “Oh no!” Goro said. “Let me help you, friend.” He helped the man up and stole his purse in an instant. Then he proceeded to prod—hard—at the beggar’s bloodied face. “Ow!” the beggar said, catching Goro’s hands. “The fuck are you doing!” “I’m sorry, sir,” Goro said. “I’m a cleric, you see. I can heal you, but I need to know the extent of the injury.” He prodded harder, using his thumb to press into the beggar’s broken cheekbone. Joan watched, amused. She slipped closer. "Hey,” she said. Amari whirled around. “Joan!” She wrapped her arms around Joan’s neck; she smelled like crushed rose petals and rich dirt. Joan closed her eyes and breathed for what felt like the first time in days. Joan let go reluctantly. “So this is the infamous Goro, huh.” “I’m busy,” Goro said, not looking at her at all. His fingers glowed. He half-fixed the man’s bloody face, but left one of the scrapes. The man left, muttering under his breath about rude half-elves. “That poor man,” Goro said, shaking his head. “I try to help him and he’s not even grateful. Oh, hey, Amari, you dropped your purse.” He tossed it back. She instantly liked him. She didn't say so, though. Only chumps admitted they liked people. Instead, she bought the most expensive flower—a rich white lily—and tucked it behind Amari’s ear. Goro did not look at Joan even once. *** The "huh" feeling never went away. She really fucking liked Goro, which was a problem, because some days it seemed like he’d shank her and leave her to bleed out in a back alley if he could. Other days—maybe not. Goro seemed like the kinda guy who was wildly loyal ally to his friends and a complete disaster for everyone else. The problem was, two solid years crept by, and Joan still had no goddamn idea which side of the fence she was on. She always had the gut feeling Goro was either going to murder her in her sleep or save her life one day. Like one day he'd either be the thing that finally killed her or the thing that saved her skin. Most of the time, though, it felt like both. Category:Vignettes